To Those In The Dark
by Phindle
Summary: In times of need, sometimes it’s just about getting through the day. AU version of Gallant’s death, Reela
1. Skitter

Originally authored on livejournal as Bingelybeep

Rating:M, not too detailed smut and one bad word.

Spoilers: Just that Gallant exists. Written before he no longer did.

Disclaimer: I do not own ER or any the characters or recognisable situations. Nor do I own the poems 'I Wake and Feel The Fell Of Dark, Not Day' or 'Lullaby'. This story is written and published for personal enjoyment and the love of the characters. No profit is being made.

Summary: In times of need, sometimes it's just about getting through the day. (AU version of Gallant's death, Reela)

Author's notes: I'm not too happy with this fic as I was trying to write it in a style I hadn't quite mastered and it's a little too melodramatic for my tastes now. It was written when I was ill, my father had just had a stroke and a good friend had just been sent to a mental institution because his schizophrenia had become unmanageable, so I wasn't on top form and the writing was a little raw. It's still waiting for a third and maybe a fourth chapter and one of these days it's going to get a thorough hack 'n' slash edit to make it into something I can read without cringing. I'm just putting it up to keep all my fics together, read at your own risk.

**I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark, Not Day – Gerard Manley Hopkins **

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.  
What hours, O what black hours we have spent  
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!  
And more must, in yet longer light's delay.

With witness I speak this. But where I say  
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament  
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent  
To dearest him that lives alas! away.

I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree  
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;  
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.

Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see  
The lost are like this, and their scourge to be  
As I am mine, their sweating selves, but worse.

**from Lullaby – WH Auden **

Lay your sleeping head, my love,  
Human on my faithless arm;  
Time and fevers burn away  
Individual beauty from  
Thoughtful children, and the grave  
Proves the child ephemeral:  
But in my arms till break of day  
Let the living creature lie,  
Mortal, guilty, but to me  
The entirely beautiful.

**To Those In The Dark**

**Part 1: Skitter **

Neela woke up and felt sick. The previous night came back to her in a sickening swirl of noise and colour and she had to control the dry heave that ripped through her. With a physical effort she looked down at the arm curled possessively around her. It rested heavily on her chest, bending upwards so his thumb rested on her neck and his fingers tangled in her hair. What had she done? Last night's mantra started ticking over in her head again and she found herself unable to control it, 'Michael's dead, Michael's dead, Michael's dead'. Every time the phrase ran through her mind a fresh image of how he could have died came with it. She saw him mangled, bleeding, crushed, suffocating, shredded, burned. Closing her eyes and trying to force the images out as she felt her breathing speed up, the arm on her chest crushing her, suffocating her as a panic attack started to set in.

She had to get away, fighting to get out of he bed so she could breathe. Her legs caught in the duvet, making her stumble and his fingers pulled at her hair, making her inhale sharply at the slight pain. She stared down at the rumpled bed, not believing how much she had lost in one night. Inspite of it all she picked up one of his t-shirts from the floor, the smell of another human being comforting her, pulling it over her head as another wave of nausea hit her.

She stumbled into the bathroom and vomited until all she could do was heave. Crouching into the corner, squeezed between the toilet and the wall she huddled, gasping and shivering from the exertion. Then she started to sob.

Ray had been awake for hours, watching the light appear between the blinds, grey at first then turning a harsh white. The skin around his eyes felt heavy and bruised with lack of sleep and his neck was cramping from being turned so oddly but he still just lay there. His flesh burned everywhere it touched Neela's. He felt his arm rise and fall with the rhythm of her breath and even though he felt like he was invading her privacy somehow he consciously began to breathe in time with her, trying to rediscover the intimacy of last night.

He knew the instant she woke up, felt something twist inside him when he sensed her looking at his arm, slung across her and felt her breath hitch. Wanted to cry when he felt the panic attack begin and heard her fall over in her rush to get away from him. He carried on feigning sleep as she ran into the bathroom, listening to her heaving and sobbing, unable to do anything because he knew he wasn't the one she wanted to be there.

He fingered the few strands of hair still wrapped around his fingers, ripped out during her escape. Rolling onto his back he lined up the strands, knotted them together and placed them on his nightstand, a memento of just how much he'd fucked up this time.

Neela sat on the bathroom floor and felt her heart speed up when she heard Ray move in his bedroom. Mortified that it was partly fear but also partly lust at the memory of the previous night.

She remembered it, waking up sweaty and confused to the sound of the phone ringing. A heat wave had hit Chicago suddenly and the apartment was muggy and stifling, the air feeling watery and swimming as she shuffled to answer the phone. Feeling faintly uneasy as the remnants of a strange dream faded and she wondered who could be calling at three in the morning.

"Hello?" her voice had croaked, expecting one of Ray's bandmates.

"Neela?" the voice was unexpected. It was Pratt, but he sounded strange, weaker than usual and tired.

She just hummed in answer, still groggy.

"Neela," he stopped and took a deep breath, "Neela, he's dead." Voice hitching and breaking wetly on the last word. She could hear the tears in his voice as he clarified, "Michael's dead."

Neela seemed to watch herself from above as she felt her insides freeze. "Thank you," she almost whispered, voice blank. She could hear Pratt calling to her faintly as she pulled the phone from her ear and hung up. She managed to put it back in its cradle before her knees gave way and she fell to the floor. She hugged her knees to her chest and rocked slowly backwards and forwards as the news worked its way around her mind. She felt so cold, detachedly recognising the signs of shock as goose bumps raced around her skin.

After half an hour she reached up, blindly feeling for the phone and calling back the last incoming number.

"Hello?" Pratt's voice still sounded wet and lost, like a little boy not sure what to do.

"How?" Neela's tone still monotonous.

Somehow knowing what she meant, Pratt answered, "A missile, hit the hospital he was in. I don't know-" he trailed off. She knew he meant so much more than just not knowing the cause of death, pictured him hanging his head and rubbing at his eyes in confusion.

"Thank you," knowing she should ask how he was but not able to deal with any more sorrow than her own she hung up once more.

She again watched herself with detachment as she got up and walked towards Ray's room. Seeking warmth and comfort. She opened the door silently, breath hitching as she looked at him. Splayed out on his stomach, moonlight gilding his back and shimmering on the small beads of sweat that had gathered along his spine. He shifted and muttered something when the mattress shifted as she came to sit cross-legged on the end of the bed.

Clutching at his leg she shook him slightly as she whispered his name, trying to wake him. Like everything he did Ray woke suddenly, sitting up as he came awake, the end of an unintelligible cry fading on his lips as he focussed on the woman hunched on his bed.

"Neela?" his voice was still clogged with sleep and he ran a hand through his hair as he squinted at her in the dark.

"He's dead, Ray. Michael's dead," Neela unconsciously echoed Pratt's words in that same monotone that seemed to have become lodged in her voice box.

It took a few seconds for Ray to understand what she was saying, simply staring at her as his mind woke up. And then he moved down the bed, scooping the tiny body into his arms and hugging her. The human contact seeming to shatter the glass that had been separating her from her emotions, Neela found herself sobbing into Ray's chest. Wheezing as she tried to drink in air between the great wracking sobs that shook her whole frame. She twined her arms tightly around Ray's neck and pulled herself onto his lap until he held her like a child, rubbing circles on her back and cradling her to him as he whispered soft nonsense into her hair.

Eventually the sobs subsided, trailing off into tiny hiccups of grief. Neela had the feeling of watching herself from the corner of the room once more as she saw herself move her head slightly, nuzzling against Ray's chest. He breathed in sharply, trying to forget how incredible it felt to have the woman he'd thought about so much recently, crushed against his chest. Trying to remember that they were pressed together on his bed, half clothed because he was comforting her and not for any other reason. Neela knew what she was doing as she pressed her lips hotly against Ray's chest. She'd read the literature about the need after a death, to confirm your own life, about the number of children conceived after funerals. Still, she couldn't stop herself, the need to knit herself as closely to another human body as possible ran through her. She could feel his breathing speed up as her lips began to roam over his chest.

Ray's eyes slipped closed as he took in the feeling of Neela's lips scorching his skin. Aware of her hair tickling the skin of his abdomen and of her hot little hand clutching reflexively at his knee.

"Neela, what are you doing?"

She looked up at him, eyes large and luminous in the dark, "Please, Ray." She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him hungrily, trying to pour out everything she was feeling and couldn't express or understand. He knew that he should stop her but when Ray felt her lips push desperately against his he lost the power to do anything except pull her closer and when her tongue brushed against his lips he seemed to lose all thought completely.

They fell back through the thick air to land on the bed, pawing at each other and frenziedly tearing off clothes. When her scorching hand wrapped around his length he could do nothing but gasp and listen to himself as he babbled nonsense and urgent pleas until he couldn't take any more. Moving over her and kissing greedily at every inch of her body, fingers slipping between her legs until she was begging him. When he finally entered her they both lay still for a moment, foreheads pressed together, realising the enormity of what was happening, before one of them began to move, though neither could have said who moved first. Then it was pure feeling once more. And if when she stiffened and cried out, Neela called out a dead man's name, Ray pretended he didn't hear, moving a few moments more before following her over the edge.

As they lay there, side by side afterwards Ray imagined the burning in his chest was just heartburn, and told himself he didn't know what she was talking about when Neela buried her face in his neck and whispered how sorry she was. And when her body, which he now knew so well, began to shake with silent tears he kissed them away and held her to his chest. He comforted her in silence until she fell asleep, then lay there staring at the ceiling and wondering why he felt so cold and alone in the sweltering room. Wondering how a dead man could make him feel so jealous that he hated him.

TBC


	2. Ebb and Flow

Originally authored on livejournal as Bingelybeep

Rating:M, not too detailed smut and one bad word.

Spoilers: Just that Gallant exists. Written before he no longer did.

Disclaimer: I do not own ER or any the characters or recognisable situations. Nor do I own the poems 'I Wake and Feel The Fell Of Dark, Not Day' or 'Lullaby'. This story is written and published for personal enjoyment and the love of the characters. No profit is being made.

Summary: In times of need, sometimes it's just about getting through the day. (AU version of Gallant's death, Reela)

Author's notes: I'm not too happy with this fic as I was trying to write it in a style I hadn't quite mastered and it's a little too melodramatic for my tastes now. It was written when I was ill, my father had just had a stroke and a good friend had just been sent to a mental institution because his schizophrenia had become unmanageable, so I wasn't on top form and the writing was a little raw. It's still waiting for a third and maybe a fourth chapter and one of these days it's going to get a thorough hack 'n' slash edit to make it into something I can read without cringing. I'm just putting it up to keep all my fics together, read at your own risk.

**To Those In The Dark**

**Part 2: Ebb and Flow**

Ray walked into the bathroom slowly, not sure what to expect. He hated himself just a little bit more when he saw Neela on the floor wearing nothing but his t-shirt and felt himself harden slightly.

Neela looked up at him, no longer crying but the tear tracks still clear on her face. He desperately wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her but he wasn't sure how welcome that comfort would be right now. Not coming from him anyway. Sensing his indecision Neela raised her arms up to him in a childlike request for a hug and instantly Ray was on his knees in front of her. He held her close and stroked her hair, feeling her relax into his arms and rejoicing that she didn't hate him for what he had done.

Neela collapsed, exhausted into Ray's arms and let him hold her up. She was too tired to cry anymore and so she just hung there enjoying the feel of Ray's hands running through her hair then moving down to rub the back of her neck. She was sure she should feel uncomfortable being this close to him after what had just happened but she really didn't. Maybe it was just that she was too tired to care. She certainly wasn't too tired to care about where they went from here though. Her relationship with Ray had always been strange, in some ways they were closer than friends. They lived together and so many boundaries were crossed on a daily basis that they had to be. Living together created moments of strange intimacy. Like the way after long shifts they would occasionally fall asleep on the sofa together, her head resting on his shoulder, until one of them woke up at two in the morning with the neck ache from hell and they would both trudge to their separate rooms. And then in other ways they weren't even really friends. They fought all the time, they didn't socialise together and she didn't think she could even say where he'd been to university, but that didn't seem to matter somehow, as if they understood each other on a far deeper level. And then there were the moments when it seemed like they were more than friends, or at least had the potential to be. When one of them would turn and catch the other staring at them, when their eyes would lock for just a little bit too long. Sometimes when that happened Neela could swear that he was on the verge of leaning in and kissing her, but it never happened so she buried her disappointment, blamed her oversexed imagination and moved on. But still, there were times when she wasn't so sure. Once when Ray was handing her her keys their fingers had brushed ever so slightly, an electric tingle had shot straight up her arm and she could have sworn from the way Ray's own arm had tensed and jerked back the tiniest bit, that he had felt it too but when she looked at his face he was nonchalant, already jabbering away about his next gig.

The thing was, she realised, that even though she was dying inside over Michael's death, right now she was more worried about losing her crazy, undefined relationship with Ray.

"Ray," she asked, lifting a face that she knew had to be tearstained and blotchy, "What happens now?"

Ray knew she wasn't talking about Michael and that gave him a certain twisted hope. 'Triumphing over a dead man,' he thought, 'nice one, Barnett.' The problem was he didn't know what happened now. He knew that he was burning up inside thinking about what had happened between them last night and that he was acutely aware of everywhere his skin touched hers. He also knew that there was more to this than the physical as he remembered the sick lurch in his stomach that morning as Neela had leapt out of his bed. But most of all he knew that it had been a mistake which Neela would not want to repeat and that he would rather have his roommate and friend than push the issue and lose her completely. Ray hated himself for being such a coward as he heard the non-committal answer coming from his lips.

"Nothing, Neela. Nothing happens now."

She wanted to cry when she heard those words but she was still just too tired. The soothing feeling of Ray's hands rubbing slow circles on her back gradually calmed her racing thoughts and she began to drift off into sleep.

Ray could feel her head resting more heavily on his shoulder as the exhausted woman in his arms fell asleep. He felt her breath slow against his neck and watched as her arm gradually slipped off his other shoulder, catching it before it could drop and wake her up. His hand on her back gently slowed until he could remove it and use it to gently maneuveur himself so his back was against a wall. He sat and watched her for several minutes as one hand stroked at the slippery strands of her hair and the other stroked her back again, at one point moving lower to rediscover the sweet curve of her waist and hip before he realised what he was doing and hastily returned to her upper back. Eventually his hands stilled and his head slowly rolled forwards to rest against Neela's, as he too drifted into sleep.

When Neela woke later the hazy morning light had brightened into daylight which stung her eyes. She was still curled on Ray's lap on the bathroom floor, wedged between the wall and the toilet. There was nowhere else she'd rather be and that just made the sickening guilt she was feeling, even worse. 'The man you're supposed to be in love with dies and you jump straight into bed with someone else, what exactly does that make you Neela?' she asked herself. That was the thing though wasn't it, the man she was supposed to be in love with. She'd never said she loved Michael, never even been on a date with him, they had been close friends who could have been more. Then through all the letters she'd built up this fairytale romance which had never actually happened. That's all it had been, friendship, a kiss, some letters and one night together. So why did she feel so guilty?

Neela jumped slightly as Ray's hand squeezed reflexively at her hip and she watched him as he slowly began to wake up. She realised that this was the second time in about 12 hours that she'd done this, just sitting silently and watching him wake, the intimacy of the action bringing a small smile to her face. Only she blushed as she remembered what had happened after the last time.

Ray blinked sleepily as he woke, a puzzled frown crossing his face as he took a moment to register where he was. Followed by a slight widening of the eyes as he took note of the woman curled in his lap watching him and remembered how they had ended up there. Finally, he twisted his face into an involuntary grimace as the pain in his neck made itself known.

"Hey," It wasn't articulate but as he gazed down at Neela's face he felt that it somehow conveyed everything that needed to be said.

"Hey," she smiled back up at him. It was a small and decidedly watery smile but it was a definite improvement.

As she stared into his eyes Neela felt an incredible surge of emotion she had never felt for the man cradling her before. She felt a sickening lurch as she tried to imagine the last few hours without him, just the thought making her feel confused and adrift, not sure what to do. She knew that whatever she convinced herself later, the events of last night couldn't have happened with anyone else. The realisation and all that came with it made her dizzy. For Ray, last night had been an act of comfort and friendship, and honestly, she imagined that if any woman had thrown herself at him like that he would have reacted the same way. For her though, it had been a moment of realisation, when she finally understood how much she needed to be near him, to be with him. She also knew that it was a moment she would keep for the rest of her life, one of discovery and loss. She had found the man she knew inside she could love more deeply than anyone she had met so far but she also knew that that one night had been the entirety of their affair.

The misery that coursed through her was enough to drown in but it was nothing compared to the guilt that followed when she realised that for a few moments she had forgotten completely about Michael, more concerned with her own melodramatic inner turmoils.

Without even realising she was speaking she stared up at Ray, eyes frantically searching his as if he held all the answers and heard her own voice questioning him with a desperation she had never heard in it before,

"How could I do that, Ray? How could I betray him so easily?"

Ray was shocked, he'd seen the emotions flitting rapidly across Neela's perfect face and he had been expecting this reaction, but not so soon. He wanted to be able to treasure the memory of what they'd had for a few brief hours more before it was sullied and he had to recognise it as the selfish act it was. Certainly he had wanted to comfort her, to give her what she needed to get through that first endless night without the man she loved but he had by no means been selfless. When he had woken up to the sight of her on the end of his bed, he had wanted her, with the raw passionate need that snuck up on him so regularly when he was around Neela. Things about her would strike him, the way she held a fork or pushed her hair behind her ear. Simple domestic things. And all of a sudden he'd be drowning in a wash of desire for her, breathless, dry mouthed and confused.

Any chance he had ever had of making her feel the same way was gone now. He would be forever associated with the death of the man she actually loved, the man who had probably made her feel the way that he did right now. He was going to store away every detail of last night, the way she felt and tasted, the noises she made at each different touch. He was going to keep those memories for the rest of his life because he knew now, he knew as he was falling asleep last night, that he'd found the one, but he'd arrived too late and now he'd lost her forever.

The knowledge made him unreasonably cruel, as if she should have known in her soul that he was coming, that she had to wait for him, as though she was the one who had betrayed him, not that he was the one who had taken advantage of her grief. He wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt him.

"You didn't betray him, the truth is he's not here to betray any more. Last night was about you needing to live on, to be alive without him."

His words softened at the end. Even though he wanted to rip at her with his words he still couldn't stifle the need to keep her close and protect her with all he had.

Neela stiffened at the harsh reminder that Michael was gone and then felt herself go even more cold inside at the clear indication that last night had meant nothing to Ray. That in some twisted way it had been him being a good friend. Still she couldn't shake the hope and the guilt. She knew that it hadn't all been about need, she had needed him, but she wanted him too. As they had explored each others' bodies so feverishly she hadn't thought about Michael, could barely remember his name, which is why when it flashed through her mind it had consumed her until she found herself crying it out as she flew over the edge, not because of him but for him. Like a last sick prayer.

Something in her seemed to need more punishment though, she needed to confess what had driven her and to try to explain her guilt while she still had the courage. But when she tried the words seemed to wedge in her throat.

"What if it wasn't needing? I mean– I wanted to. I- it was- . How could I – when he was -."

Ray heard the guilt tearing at her in her voice and let it squelch the hope he had felt rising when she talked about wanting. She had wanted the comfort, maybe even wanted the physical act, but she hadn't wanted him. He tried to ease her guilt, tried to make her understand, all the while feeling sick inside as he wrote off the most beautiful moment of his life like some kind of heavy drinking session. Something nasty but forgiveable, to be forgotten as soon as possible. Although as he spoke the last sentence something told him he was telling himself more than he was telling her.

"Sometimes it's not about want. Sometimes it's about need, it's about hurt and comfort and -. Sometimes it's just about getting through the day."

With every word Neela died a little more inside. She felt like a tree in autumn, watching as one perfect leaf after another inevitably shrivelled and fell. Still, she couldn't leave this chance. The need for him still burned inside her in a way she knew would never be satisfied but if once more was all she was allowed she would still take it and savour every moment, to sustain her for the rest of her life.

"But what if I still hurt? What if I still… want?"

Ray looked sharply at her face and held in the involuntary gasp at her words. He could take being second best and hearing her call out another man's name if it meant he could keep her in his arms just a few minutes longer. He locked his eyes with hers and lowered his voice, speaking deliberately.

"Then you take what you need."

It was Neela's turn to hold in a gasp. She knew that being able to love him one more time would only make things worse but she felt like an addict. The thing she craved so desperately was being handed to her and she didn't have the willpower to resist. She raised a hand to his face, stroking gently at the contours of his cheekbone, rubbing the pad of her thumb over the bruised looking flesh under his eye where he clearly hadn't slept. She wanted to remember every detail of him. Running her thumb down and over his full lower lip she felt her breathing grow harsh as she asked breathlessly,

"But what about you?"

Ray could barely speak and instead he locked eyes with her, trying to convey the ecstatic feeling of perfection he felt when she touched him. He kissed the pad of her thumb before drawing the digit into his mouth, suckling at it before gently biting the tip and soothing the slight pain with his tongue. Memorising every layer of the intricate salty taste. Satisfaction washed over him as he watched her eyes darken and then slip closed. Pulling her hand from his mouth he placed a hot, fervent, open mouthed kiss on the soft underside of her wrist, feeling the racing pulse below his lips. He stared at her hand, wondering at it's smallness cradled in his own as he answered in a tone of voice that neither of them could decipher. It held resignation and something far deeper.

"Maybe I'm not the important one here."

Neela couldn't pretend to understand the meaning of his words or the way he said them but she felt sure she would one day.

And with that their lips met once more, there was a desperation in their kisses now which hadn't been there the night before and it left a faint bitter taste on their tongues. Still joined at the mouth Ray laid her on the floor almost reverently, both of them wincing at the sharp pain as their muscles came back to life after being still for so long.

They made love almost silently, stretched out on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, both deep in concentration as they stored every detail about the other to get them through the years to come. And this time, she didn't call out anyone else's name as the world imploded around her.

Afterwards they lay there, intertwined, chilled from the rapid cooling of their bodies but unwilling to move and end the moment. And they both pretended that this wasn't an act of need and comfort but that it was something deeper, that they were being held by someone who loved them and that there was no need to worry about the moment ending, because it would be followed by a lifetime of others even better. They both knew that however they ended up, whoever they married, however many children they had, nothing was going to compare to the bittersweet memory of this one moment so painful and perfect it was almost holy.

TBC

So, how was it? I think the 2nd half of this chapter managed to get back the tone of the first chapter but the first half was a little off. Reading it back it's not as bad as I thought. It feels true to me but it may just be melodrama to everyone else. Opinions/guidance/constructive criticism would be welcomed with open arms as it may not take me long to get back in the mood to write the rest of this. Thanks for reading.


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